The Revealing (16 page)

“Is it, Tobe? Is it truly impossible?” She kept her eyes steady
on his. She didn’t want him to back away from the question. She needed an answer.

In a flash, his face went from fury to guilt to resignation. “No,” he said quietly, as the color drained from his face. He looked up, drew a deep sigh, and spoke very gently. “No, it’s not
entirely
impossible.”

Naomi would remember forever how it felt when Tobe told her that indeed, he had known Paisley, in a biblical way. She felt the shock rush through her, prickling her skin and making her head tingle.

“She’s lying. It’s all a terrible mistake, Naomi. I would
know
if I had fathered a child with that girl. I would
know
it. I can’t imagine why she would do this, out of the blue. But I don’t know the kind of person she is.”

Naomi squeezed her eyes shut at that last sentence. And yet he knew her well enough to
know
her.

She was very still as she sat and listened to him. Her face changed from time to time, concerned and distressed and compassionate as Tobe explained his tale of loneliness and misery, hastening to put her anxieties at rest: he was just with Paisley a few times and it never meant anything to either of them and he was having such a terrible time when he was in self-exile. She had to force herself to keep from looking stricken, horrified, when he said Paisley must be crazy because he was the last person in the world anyone should choose as a father for their child.

“Could she be lying about the timing? Would you have . . . known her . . . last August? Before you returned to Stoney Ridge?”

Tobe dropped his eyes. “Yes. I was with her one last time, before I returned home. I was a mess, wrestling with coming
back home, and I got really drunk. I don’t remember much of anything except waking up in the morning at her place again, with people there I didn’t even know. I decided right then that I’d go home.” He looked up, misery flooding his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

For a moment, Naomi couldn’t breathe. When she took in a full breath, her eyes started to sting.
Oh Lord, don’t let me cry. Not here. Not now.

“Say something, Naomi. Anything.” His voice was only a whisper.

She tried to respond but the torrent of words welling up inside her wouldn’t budge.

“You’re as white as a sheet.”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. Her muscles and emotions had all turned to jelly.

“Please believe me. I’m begging you. Begging you, Naomi. You’re my only sure center. The only thing I need.”

“But I’m not, Tobe,” she said, strangely calm, though her temples were starting to pound and spots had started to dance before her eyes. “No one can ever be another person’s center. That position belongs only to God.” She glanced at the clock and said she thought she should leave.

His dismay was enormous. “You can’t go now, you’ve only been here a short time.”

“But you’ve told me everything.”

“No, I haven’t told you anything really. I’ve only skimmed the surface.”

But she had heard what she came to hear. “I have to go back, Tobe. I would have, anyway, no matter what you told me. I need to get home before my brother returns from the horse auction.”

They rose to say goodbye.

“I never, ever intended to hurt you,” Tobe said.

Her stomach knotted with worry and she put a hand to her head as if she were coming down with a dreadful headache . . . which she was. “It doesn’t matter what you intended. What matters is . . . what is.”

What matters is what is.

“Did I do the wrong thing, telling you the truth?” He was a child again, confused and uncertain.

When she first arrived, she had hoped that Tobe would smile his lovely, familiar, heart-turning smile and say, “I’ve never heard of anyone named Paisley,” and they would fall happily into each other’s arms. But Tobe didn’t say such a thing. It felt like the time when they all thought that Luke had drowned in Blue Lake Pond and it turned out later he’d just gone on home the other way. Well, that’s the kind of fear she had now. She knew this kind of fear—it went bone deep.

He reached out to hold her hand. Her throat swelled and tears rushed to her eyes. “I need to go home,” she said, backing away from him.

It had begun to rain as Mr. Kurtz drove her home, passing by the fields of green, each surrounded by a hedge of darker green; and Naomi stared hard out of the window willing the tears back into her head. But they came, one after the other, cascading down her cheeks. Her emotions felt like tangled vines, difficult to pull apart, no idea of where they began or ended.

What Naomi had felt as she sat on that porch swing yesterday with Bethany had not been a suspicion, it had been a foresight. She didn’t just fear what Paisley’s arrival might mean, she knew it.

What matters is what is.

10

M
im set her diary down, filled with notes and ideas about how to answer letters to Mrs. Miracle. She was stumped by a recent letter:

Dear Mrs. Miracle,

My father insists that I follow him in the family business. He’s worked very hard at establishing a successful business and I admire what he’s done. But here’s my problem: he’s a butcher and I’m a vegetarian.

What should I do?

Signed,
Animal Lover

“Honor thy father.” The words slipped through her mind as she glanced over at her Bible on the corner of her desk. Could you honor your father and still choose a different career path?

She closed her diary, hid it under her mattress, and went next door in search of Naomi, who knew the answer to these kinds of questions.

“Looking for Galen or Naomi?” Jimmy Fisher said as Mim came into the barn over at the Kings’, blinking her eyes rapidly as they adjusted to the dim lighting. Three horses stuck their heads over their stall doors, regarding her with interest. Barn swallows swooped from their nests and flew past her toward the open door. Jimmy was brushing a horse held in crossties in the middle of the barn aisle.

“I wanted to talk to Naomi.”

“She’s away, and so is Galen. I’m helping him out today.”

Mim glanced at him with surprise. “Who’s minding the chickens?”

He frowned. “I got up extra early and I’ll stay up extra late tonight.”

Jimmy walked the mare outside to the round training pen and Mim followed behind to watch the training session. He stood in the center, holding on to the long lead line, and made a clucking sound with his tongue to get the horse circling around the pen. He watched the mare’s gait with a practiced eye. Now and then, he flicked a whip at her rear hooves to keep her in a gentle canter.

Mim leaned her elbows on the pen’s railing. That pinched look Jimmy got on his face when she had asked about his chickens was gone. Come to think of it, that pinched look was on his face rather a lot lately, like his stomach hurt or he’d gotten a popcorn kernel stuck between his teeth. She felt a stab of pity for Jimmy. Here, as he concentrated on the movement of the horse, chirping to her when she slowed from a lope to a jog, praising her when she kept a steady pace, he seemed more like the old Jimmy. Happy, lighthearted, quick to smile.

Bethany was right. Jimmy was in danger of losing his sparkle. Or did she say spark? Either way, it had gone missing.

After the horse had been warmed up, Jimmy unhooked the shank from the mare’s halter. He walked over to Mim to set down the whip and pick up a few training tools. “Jimmy, can a son honor his parents but not agree to work in the family business?”

Jimmy’s face went blank. “What did Bethany tell you?”

“Tell me about what?”

He looked confused. “About how much I hate chickens.”

“She didn’t say a word.” She didn’t have to. Everybody knew that. Everybody!

“Then, why did you ask me such a question?”

“I just . . . was wondering. So what do you think? Can you honor your mother and quit the chicken business?”

Jimmy leaned against the pen railing. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately.”

“Honor thy father. It’s in the Bible.”

“I know it is.” Jimmy looked out at an eagle, drifting high on an updraft, its wings as still as the grasses below, circling and searching for its dinner.

Those words were there. She couldn’t deny that. But other bits of verses came to mind. “It also says to walk in truth. And the truth shall make you free.”

Jimmy’s head snapped around to look at her. “What did you say?”

“Those are someplace in the Bible but I don’t know where, exactly. My mom has them written out on index cards and taped to the refrigerator.”

Jimmy rubbed his face with his hands.

Mim wasn’t sure what she had said that made Jimmy seem bothered.

He picked up a bucket of tools used to condition the horse
to unexpected noise. “I’d better get back to work.” He walked toward the horse, then spun around. “Thank you, Mim. You’ve been a big help. You know . . . you give pretty miraculous advice.” He winked at her.

What had she said?

After a few casual meetings, Brooke decided to go each day at the same time to the Sweet Tooth Bakery. Jon Hoeffner was always there, in the same seat and table that faced the door—as if he might just be waiting for her. His smile was warm, but it made her nervous. It had been a long time since a man had given her this kind of attention.

And this was the kind of man you could dream about night and day, someone who would occupy all your thoughts. There was a definite undercurrent of romance between them. Jon was strikingly handsome, charming, easy to talk to, and most importantly, he didn’t wear a wedding ring. He mentioned very little about his private life, but he spoke well of everyone and badly of no one.

Was Jon toying with her? She couldn’t tell. Her intuition read kindness and genuine goodness in him, but she’d been wrong about people in the past.

Brooke was hoping Jon might suggest going out on a date. She thought about asking him—after all, this was the twenty-first century, but some warning voice made her think that she could only keep his attention if she didn’t seem to care. It was so silly, all this game playing, yet it appeared to work. “Will you stay in Stoney Ridge long?” she said nonchalantly. It was an act.

He shook his head. “As soon as I wrap a few things up, I’m on my way.”

She felt a twinge of disappointment. “Don’t you like it here? I do.”

“It’s a one-horse town and a pretty poor horse at that.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, stirring her coffee. “There’s certainly a lot of drama at the Inn at Eagle Hill.”

“Oh?” he said. “What kind of drama could be going on at a quiet Amish farm?”

She told him about the pregnant girl named Paisley who had arrived, out of the blue, claiming to be carrying the oldest son’s baby, and how the family was reeling from the news. Come to think of it, she had learned quite a bit about this family just by paying attention. If only more people would learn to listen, they could pick up all kinds of amazing information.

Jon, for example, was a wonderful listener. He leaned close to her as she talked, nodding in all the right places, eyes lighting up as he heard the Schrock family gossip. How many men would find it interesting to hear about an Amish family?

She smiled at Jon. Stoney Ridge was turning into a surprisingly delightful place for her life to find new direction.

She took a sip of coffee and gave a sigh of pure pleasure.

“It’s good, that coffee, isn’t it?” he said.

As far as Brooke was concerned, it could as well have been turpentine.